The Old Curiosity Shop

by Dickens, Charles

  door while he went in for 'change.'

  'Mr Richard, sir,' said Brass cheerfully, 'Good evening!'

  Monstrous as Kit's tale had appeared, at first, Mr Richard did,

  that night, half suspect his affable employer of some deep villany.

  Perhaps it was but the misery he had just witnessed which gave his

  careless nature this impulse; but, be that as it may, it was very

  strong upon him, and he said in as few words as possible, what he

  wanted.

  'Money?' cried Brass, taking out his purse. 'Ha ha! To be sure,

  Mr Richard, to be sure, sir. All men must live. You haven't

  change for a five-pound note, have you sir?'

  'No,' returned Dick, shortly.

  'Oh!' said Brass, 'here's the very sum. That saves trouble.

  You're very welcome I'm sure.--Mr Richard, sir--'

  Dick, who had by this time reached the door, turned round.

  'You needn't,' said Brass, 'trouble yourself to come back any more,

  Sir.'

  'Eh?'

  'You see, Mr Richard,' said Brass, thrusting his hands in his

  pockets, and rocking himself to and fro on his stool, 'the fact is,

  that a man of your abilities is lost, Sir, quite lost, in our dry

  and mouldy line. It's terrible drudgery--shocking. I should say,

  now, that the stage, or the--or the army, Mr Richard--or

  something very superior in the licensed victualling way--was the

  kind of thing that would call out the genius of such a man as you.

  I hope you'll look in to see us now and then. Sally, Sir, will be

  delighted I'm sure. She's extremely sorry to lose you, Mr Richard,

  but a sense of her duty to society reconciles her. An amazing

  creature that, sir! You'll find the money quite correct, I think.

  There's a cracked window sir, but I've not made any deduction on

  that account. Whenever we part with friends, Mr Richard, let us

  part liberally. A delightful sentiment, sir!'

  To all these rambling observations, Mr Swiveller answered not one

  word, but, returning for the aquatic jacket, rolled it into a tight

  round ball: looking steadily at Brass meanwhile as if he had some

  intention of bowling him down with it. He only took it under his

  arm, however, and marched out of the office in profound silence.

  When he had closed the door, he re-opened it, stared in again for

  a few moments with the same portentous gravity, and nodding his

  head once, in a slow and ghost-like manner, vanished.

  He paid the coachman, and turned his back on Bevis Marks, big with

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  great designs for the comforting of Kit's mother and the aid of Kit

  himself.

  But the lives of gentlemen devoted to such pleasures as Richard

  Swiveller, are extremely precarious. The spiritual excitement of

  the last fortnight, working upon a system affected in no slight

  degree by the spirituous excitement of some years, proved a little

  too much for him. That very night, Mr Richard was seized with an

  alarming illness, and in twenty-four hours was stricken with a

  raging fever.

  CHAPTER 64

  Tossing to and fro upon his hot, uneasy bed; tormented by a fierce

  thirst which nothing could appease; unable to find, in any change

  of posture, a moment's peace or ease; and rambling, ever, through

  deserts of thought where there was no resting-place, no sight or

  sound suggestive of refreshment or repose, nothing but a dull

  eternal weariness, with no change but the restless shiftings of his

  miserable body, and the weary wandering of his mind, constant still

  to one ever-present anxiety--to a sense of something left undone,

  of some fearful obstacle to be surmounted, of some carking care

  that would not be driven away, and which haunted the distempered

  brain, now in this form, now in that, always shadowy and dim, but

  recognisable for the same phantom in every shape it took: darkening

  every vision like an evil conscience, and making slumber horrible--

  in these slow tortures of his dread disease, the unfortunate

  Richard lay wasting and consuming inch by inch, until, at last,

  when he seemed to fight and struggle to rise up, and to be held

  down by devils, he sank into a deep sleep, and dreamed no more.

  He awoke. With a sensation of most blissful rest, better than

  sleep itself, he began gradually to remember something of these

  sufferings, and to think what a long night it had been, and whether

  he had not been delirious twice or thrice. Happening, in the midst

  of these cogitations, to raise his hand, he was astonished to find

  how heavy it seemed, and yet how thin and light it really was.

  Still, he felt indifferent and happy; and having no curiosity to

  pursue the subject, remained in the same waking slumber until his

  attention was attracted by a cough. This made him doubt whether he

  had locked his door last night, and feel a little surprised at

  having a companion in the room. Still, he lacked energy to follow

  up this train of thought; and unconsciously fell, in a luxury of

  repose, to staring at some green stripes on the bed-furniture, and

  associating them strangely with patches of fresh turf, while the

  yellow ground between made gravel-walks, and so helped out a long

  perspective of trim gardens.

  He was rambling in imagination on these terraces, and had quite

  lost himself among them indeed, when he heard the cough once more.

  The walks shrunk into stripes again at the sound, and raising

  himself a little in the bed, and holding the curtain open with one

  hand, he looked out.

  The same room certainly, and still by candlelight; but with what

  unbounded astonishment did he see all those bottles, and basins,

  and articles of linen airing by the fire, and such-like furniture

  of a sick chamber--all very clean and neat, but all quite

  different from anything he had left there, when he went to bed!

  The atmosphere, too, filled with a cool smell of herbs and vinegar;

  the floor newly sprinkled; the--the what? The Marchioness?

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  Yes; playing cribbage with herself at the table. There she sat,

  intent upon her game, coughing now and then in a subdued manner as

  if she feared to disturb him--shuffling the cards, cutting,

  dealing, playing, counting, pegging--going through all the

  mysteries of cribbage as if she had been in full practice from her

  cradle! Mr Swiveller contemplated these things for a short time,

  and suffering the curtain to fall into its former position, laid

  his head on the pillow again.

  'I'm dreaming,' thought Richard, 'that's clear. When I went to

  bed, my hands were not made of egg-shells; and now I can almost see

  through 'em. If this is not a dream, I have woke up, by mistake,

  in an Arabian Night, instead of a London one. But I have no doubt

  I'm asleep. Not the least.'

  Here the small servant had another cough.

  'Very remarkable!' thought Mr Swiveller. 'I never dreamt such a

  real cough as that before. I don't know, indeed, that I ever

  dreamt either a cough or a sneeze. Perhaps it's part o
f the

  philosophy of dreams that one never does. There's another--and

  another--I say!--I'm dreaming rather fast!'

  For the purpose of testing his real condition, Mr Swiveller, after

  some reflection, pinched himself in the arm.

  'Queerer still!' he thought. 'I came to bed rather plump than

  otherwise, and now there's nothing to lay hold of. I'll take

  another survey.'

  The result of this additional inspection was, to convince Mr

  Swiveller that the objects by which he was surrounded were real,

  and that he saw them, beyond all question, with his waking eyes.

  'It's an Arabian Night; that's what it is,' said Richard. 'I'm in

  Damascus or Grand Cairo. The Marchioness is a Genie, and having

  had a wager with another Genie about who is the handsomest young

  man alive, and the worthiest to be the husband of the Princess of

  China, has brought me away, room and all, to compare us together.

  Perhaps,' said Mr Swiveller, turning languidly round on his pillow,

  and looking on that side of his bed which was next the wall, 'the

  Princess may be still--No, she's gone.'

  Not feeling quite satisfied with this explanation, as, even taking

  it to be the correct one, it still involved a little mystery and

  doubt, Mr Swiveller raised the curtain again, determined to take

  the first favourable opportunity of addressing his companion. An

  occasion presented itself. The Marchioness dealt, turned up a

  knave, and omitted to take the usual advantage; upon which Mr

  Swiveller called out as loud as he could--'Two for his heels!'

  The Marchioness jumped up quickly and clapped her hands. 'Arabian

  Night, certainly,' thought Mr Swiveller; 'they always clap their

  hands instead of ringing the bell. Now for the two thousand black

  slaves, with jars of jewels on their heads!'

  It appeared, however, that she had only clapped her hands for joy;

  for directly afterward she began to laugh, and then to cry;

  declaring, not in choice Arabic but in familiar English, that she

  was 'so glad, she didn't know what to do.'

  'Marchioness,' said Mr Swiveller, thoughtfully, 'be pleased to draw

  nearer. First of all, will you have the goodness to inform me

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  where I shall find my voice; and secondly, what has become of my

  flesh?'

  The Marchioness only shook her head mournfully, and cried again;

  whereupon Mr Swiveller (being very weak) felt his own eyes affected

  likewise.

  'I begin to infer, from your manner, and these appearances,

  Marchioness,' said Richard after a pause, and smiling with a

  trembling lip, 'that I have been ill.'

  'You just have!' replied the small servant, wiping her eyes. 'And

  haven't you been a talking nonsense!'

  'Oh!' said Dick. 'Very ill, Marchioness, have I been?'

  'Dead, all but,' replied the small servant. 'I never thought you'd

  get better. Thank Heaven you have!'

  Mr Swiveller was silent for a long while. By and bye, he began to

  talk again, inquiring how long he had been there.

  'Three weeks to-morrow,' replied the servant.

  'Three what?' said Dick.

  'Weeks,' returned the Marchioness emphatically; 'three long, slow

  weeks.'

  The bare thought of having been in such extremity, caused Richard

  to fall into another silence, and to lie flat down again, at his

  full length. The Marchioness, having arranged the bed-clothes more

  comfortably, and felt that his hands and forehead were quite cool--

  a discovery that filled her with delight--cried a little more,

  and then applied herself to getting tea ready, and making some thin

  dry toast.

  While she was thus engaged, Mr Swiveller looked on with a grateful

  heart, very much astonished to see how thoroughly at home she made

  herself, and attributing this attention, in its origin, to Sally

  Brass, whom, in his own mind, he could not thank enough. When the

  Marchioness had finished her toasting, she spread a clean cloth on

  a tray, and brought him some crisp slices and a great basin of weak

  tea, with which (she said) the doctor had left word he might

  refresh himself when he awoke. She propped him up with pillows, if

  not as skilfully as if she had been a professional nurse all her

  life, at least as tenderly; and looked on with unutterable

  satisfaction while the patient--stopping every now and then to

  shake her by the hand--took his poor meal with an appetite and

  relish, which the greatest dainties of the earth, under any other

  circumstances, would have failed to provoke. Having cleared away,

  and disposed everything comfortably about him again, she sat down

  at the table to take her own tea.

  'Marchioness,' said Mr Swiveller, 'how's Sally?'

  The small servant screwed her face into an expression of the very

  uttermost entanglement of slyness, and shook her head.

  'What, haven't you seen her lately?' said Dick.

  'Seen her!' cried the small servant. 'Bless you, I've run away!'

  Mr Swiveller immediately laid himself down again quite flat, and so

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  remained for about five minutes. By slow degrees he resumed his

  sitting posture after that lapse of time, and inquired:

  'And where do you live, Marchioness?'

  'Live!' cried the small servant. 'Here!'

  'Oh!' said Mr Swiveller.

  And with that he fell down flat again, as suddenly as if he had

  been shot. Thus he remained, motionless and bereft of speech,

  until she had finished her meal, put everything in its place, and

  swept the hearth; when he motioned her to bring a chair to the

  bedside, and, being propped up again, opened a farther

  conversation.

  'And so,' said Dick, 'you have run away?'

  'Yes,' said the Marchioness, 'and they've been a tizing of me.'

  'Been--I beg your pardon,' said Dick--'what have they been doing?'

  'Been a tizing of me--tizing you know--in the newspapers,'

  rejoined the Marchioness.

  'Aye, aye,' said Dick, 'advertising?'

  The small servant nodded, and winked. Her eyes were so red with

  waking and crying, that the Tragic Muse might have winked with

  greater consistency. And so Dick felt.

  'Tell me,' said he, 'how it was that you thought of coming here.'

  'Why, you see,' returned the Marchioness, 'when you was gone, I

  hadn't any friend at all, because the lodger he never come back,

  and I didn't know where either him or you was to be found, you

  know. But one morning, when I was-'

  'Was near a keyhole?' suggested Mr Swiveller, observing that she

  faltered.

  'Well then,' said the small servant, nodding; 'when I was near the

  office keyhole--as you see me through, you know--I heard somebody

  saying that she lived here, and was the lady whose house you lodged

  at, and that you was took very bad, and wouldn't nobody come and

  take care of you. Mr Brass, he says, "It's no business of mine,"

  he says; and Miss Sally, she says, "He's a funny chap, but it's no

  business of mine;" and the lady went awa
y, and slammed the door to,

  when she went out, I can tell you. So I run away that night, and

  come here, and told 'em you was my brother, and they believed me,

  and I've been here ever since.'

  'This poor little Marchioness has been wearing herself to death!'

  cried Dick.

  'No I haven't,' she returned, 'not a bit of it. Don't you mind

  about me. I like sitting up, and I've often had a sleep, bless

  you, in one of them chairs. But if you could have seen how you

  tried to jump out o' winder, and if you could have heard how you

  used to keep on singing and making speeches, you wouldn't have

  believed it--I'm so glad you're better, Mr Liverer.'

  'Liverer indeed!' said Dick thoughtfully. 'It's well I am a

  liverer. I strongly suspect I should have died, Marchioness, but

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  for you.'

  At this point, Mr Swiveller took the small servant's hand in his

  again, and being, as we have seen, but poorly, might in struggling

  to express his thanks have made his eyes as red as hers, but that

  she quickly changed the theme by making him lie down, and urging

  him to keep very quiet.

  'The doctor,' she told him, 'said you was to be kept quite still,

  and there was to be no noise nor nothing. Now, take a rest, and

  then we'll talk again. I'll sit by you, you know. If you shut

  your eyes, perhaps you'll go to sleep. You'll be all the better

  for it, if you do.'

  The Marchioness, in saying these words, brought a little table to

  the bedside, took her seat at it, and began to work away at the

  concoction of some cooling drink, with the address of a score of

  chemists. Richard Swiveller being indeed fatigued, fell into a

  slumber, and waking in about half an hour, inquired what time it

  was.

  'Just gone half after six,' replied his small friend, helping him

  to sit up again.

  'Marchioness,' said Richard, passing his hand over his forehead and

  turning suddenly round, as though the subject but that moment

  flashed upon him, 'what has become of Kit?'

  He had been sentenced to transportation for a great many years, she

  said.

  'Has he gone?' asked Dick--'his mother--how is she,--what has

  become of her?'

  His nurse shook her head, and answered that she knew nothing about

  them. 'But, if I thought,' said she, very slowly, 'that you'd keep